The same day that I went to see my megaphone cousin I stopped for coffee at my local Starbucks. I was behind a woman who had ordered a drink and was trying to pay for it. She had a bunch of coins splayed out on the counter. I waited patiently behind her - the woman behind the counter watched patiently. After a minute or so the woman scooped the coins up, apologized, and said she'd head out to her car to get the rest of the money. She wandered off.
I ordered my drink, pondered a bit, then took all of the change I had clanging around in my man-purse, and offered it to her.
"How much do you need?" I asked. 40 cents.
She thanked me profusely and repeatedly, the last time yelling her gratitude across the store.
"Eh," I said. "I try to do one nice thing a year."
The employee at the store, who knows me said: "You're always good."
I appreciated the fact that she thinks so. I also was a little alarmed about the possibility that I was spending too much time in her store.
What a wonderful man I am! SO wonderful!!
Later, outside, this woman stopped by my table. She seemed a little unfocused inside, a little not-all-there.
"I have something for you," she said.
Religious pamphlets. D'oh!
I definitely did not try to get my money back.
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Friday, January 29, 2016
Hooray For Me!
As St. Frank says: "It is better to understand than to be understood," a statement I definitely do not understand. The momentum of those of us who are working on our spiritual self is towards this understanding. It comes more easily with family members that we love and to our Fellowship paisanos than it does to those people who irritate us, and it becomes even more of a slog when we're dealing with people who really are behaving badly.
When we were gone a relative of mine had a stroke. He's recovering - slowly - in a rehab facility very close to where I live. He's a fine man, he really is - this is not in dispute. The rub for me is that he's also a vociferous hyper-partisan political true-believer - one of those folks who has consumed the Kool-Aid, so to speak, who spends large amounts of time in very opinionated, slanted echo-chambers, places that reinforce over and over, and loudly, those beliefs that one already holds dearly, facts be damned. This is one thing. The other thing is that he feels comfortable repeating these things to me, at an elevated volume, frequently, despite the fact that I've kind of . . . you know . . . told him to shut the fuck up about it.
The morning that I attended the meeting where the conversation was about helping my still-suffering fellow alcoholic - and by extension everyone else in the world that I may be able to help - I had already made plans to visit this guy. I did just that. It was just fine. I didn't stay long but I visited. We had a nice talk and I could see that he really appreciated the visit. I don't like going into rehab facilities and I get to go back out - this dude is stuck there. I know from experience that it's boring and frustrating to be someplace, sick and injured, and lose almost all control of your environment.
Hooray for me! What a wonderful guy I am!
Actually, not so much. But I did do a nice thing. Can't say I enjoyed the visit that much but I know I did a nice thing.
On a related side note I felt a little guilty that I didn't stay longer. I'm probably the only person who has visited him outside of his family but I like to feel guilty. That's the alcoholic mind - we do more than almost anyone else but still manage to feel like shit about it.
When we were gone a relative of mine had a stroke. He's recovering - slowly - in a rehab facility very close to where I live. He's a fine man, he really is - this is not in dispute. The rub for me is that he's also a vociferous hyper-partisan political true-believer - one of those folks who has consumed the Kool-Aid, so to speak, who spends large amounts of time in very opinionated, slanted echo-chambers, places that reinforce over and over, and loudly, those beliefs that one already holds dearly, facts be damned. This is one thing. The other thing is that he feels comfortable repeating these things to me, at an elevated volume, frequently, despite the fact that I've kind of . . . you know . . . told him to shut the fuck up about it.
The morning that I attended the meeting where the conversation was about helping my still-suffering fellow alcoholic - and by extension everyone else in the world that I may be able to help - I had already made plans to visit this guy. I did just that. It was just fine. I didn't stay long but I visited. We had a nice talk and I could see that he really appreciated the visit. I don't like going into rehab facilities and I get to go back out - this dude is stuck there. I know from experience that it's boring and frustrating to be someplace, sick and injured, and lose almost all control of your environment.
Hooray for me! What a wonderful guy I am!
Actually, not so much. But I did do a nice thing. Can't say I enjoyed the visit that much but I know I did a nice thing.
On a related side note I felt a little guilty that I didn't stay longer. I'm probably the only person who has visited him outside of his family but I like to feel guilty. That's the alcoholic mind - we do more than almost anyone else but still manage to feel like shit about it.
Thursday, January 28, 2016
THEN I'd Be Happy
I have a friend in town this week who is having a rough time of it. I don't mean that life is dealing him some harsh blows - to the contrary, he's on the top of the heap by most measures - but that isn't having any luck in maneuvering the entire universe into the positions that he has pre-selected, at which point everyone in the entire universe would be very, very happy. How familiar does that sound, Mr. and Mrs. Director?
Still, I've heard quite a bit about how bad he has it when we've gotten together. I'm a little worn out by it. It's amazing sometimes to see people create a situation, refuse to alter their behavior or attitude to deal with the situation differently, and then to ponder away about what has gone wrong. In a much more benign sense it reminds me of what it's like trying to explain to someone who keeps getting DUIs that it's not the jails or the courts or the police that's the problem, that the situation doesn't lie in changing the legal system.
The power of acceptance. The power of expectations. If only this or that person would do what I want THEN I'd be happy.
Still, I've heard quite a bit about how bad he has it when we've gotten together. I'm a little worn out by it. It's amazing sometimes to see people create a situation, refuse to alter their behavior or attitude to deal with the situation differently, and then to ponder away about what has gone wrong. In a much more benign sense it reminds me of what it's like trying to explain to someone who keeps getting DUIs that it's not the jails or the courts or the police that's the problem, that the situation doesn't lie in changing the legal system.
The power of acceptance. The power of expectations. If only this or that person would do what I want THEN I'd be happy.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Pity V Empathy
Sympathy: A feeling of pity or sorrow for the suffering of another.
Empathy: Identification with or understanding of the thoughts, feelings, or emotional state of another person.
Our meeting today centered around helping the still suffering alcoholic. I'm always reminded of just how self-centered I can be and how counter-productive this is to my contentment. It's a variation of the old theme: "The more I think about myself the more unhappy I become." The problem is that it's so natural and satisfying to think about myself and such a waste of time to use up any of my limited mental resources thinking about anyone else.
You want to be unhappy? Dedicate the rest of the day to going over every last, stinking detail of your own life.
The analogy our leader used was that of the drowning man rescued by a boat full of paddlers. The saved guy is given a meal and towel and allowed to rest. Then he, too, is given a paddle and told to get to work helping other drowning men. The old Biblical saw is this: "Give a man a fish - feed him for a day. Give a man a fishing pole - feed him for the rest of his life." I guess if the guy lives in the desert this isn't such great advice but you get the jist of things.
People didn't pity me when I came in bawling about my circumstances. They didn't feel sorry for me. They identified with me. They spoke in a manner that indicated to me that they really understood what I was going through and that they, too, had experienced something similar. Most importantly, they explained the solution that worked for them. They thought it would work for me if I gave it a shot but they put absolutely no pressure on me to try this method if I didn't want to. They seemed to be very supportive of anything I could do to stay sober and drug free but cautioned that they could only talk with any authority about their 12 Step Program.
That's the ticket. Show me the way. Lead me down the path but don't put a ring through my nose and yank me along.
Empathy: Identification with or understanding of the thoughts, feelings, or emotional state of another person.
Our meeting today centered around helping the still suffering alcoholic. I'm always reminded of just how self-centered I can be and how counter-productive this is to my contentment. It's a variation of the old theme: "The more I think about myself the more unhappy I become." The problem is that it's so natural and satisfying to think about myself and such a waste of time to use up any of my limited mental resources thinking about anyone else.
You want to be unhappy? Dedicate the rest of the day to going over every last, stinking detail of your own life.
The analogy our leader used was that of the drowning man rescued by a boat full of paddlers. The saved guy is given a meal and towel and allowed to rest. Then he, too, is given a paddle and told to get to work helping other drowning men. The old Biblical saw is this: "Give a man a fish - feed him for a day. Give a man a fishing pole - feed him for the rest of his life." I guess if the guy lives in the desert this isn't such great advice but you get the jist of things.
People didn't pity me when I came in bawling about my circumstances. They didn't feel sorry for me. They identified with me. They spoke in a manner that indicated to me that they really understood what I was going through and that they, too, had experienced something similar. Most importantly, they explained the solution that worked for them. They thought it would work for me if I gave it a shot but they put absolutely no pressure on me to try this method if I didn't want to. They seemed to be very supportive of anything I could do to stay sober and drug free but cautioned that they could only talk with any authority about their 12 Step Program.
That's the ticket. Show me the way. Lead me down the path but don't put a ring through my nose and yank me along.
Sunday, January 24, 2016
MORE Character Assassination
OK, perhaps some more character assassination and backroom gossip is in order. I know I'm not supposed to do either of those things but it's just so damn satisfying. I think I'm a decent guy but tolerance and patience with you lesser mortals is definitely an area I need to work on. Gossip is like eating potato chips - once you get rolling it's hard to put the brakes on.
So, that being said, here is a catalog of some of the bitching and boorish behavior I heard while on the fancy-pants tour, and I am not making any of this up.
The bus is too hot or could you turn down the air conditioning? Tough shit and no.
The road is too rough. A few times the road was pretty bad but talk about something out of everybody's control.
This site is stupid or a waste of time or too far from the ship.
The guide never stopped talking. This is a variation of the complaint that we weren't given enough information from the guide about the day's excursion, and maybe one of the origins of the concept: "Damned if you do - damned if you don't."
Immediately upon embarking on our ship more than one person complained about the internet access. I mean they were standing in the lounge with their devices trying to get on-line immediately. I assume that their input was needed on important matters with global implications. Have you ever looked over someone very important's shoulder while they were on the web? Try it - no one is doing anything very important unless you consider Facebook to be a matter of global import. Which you should not. All of their electronic devices should have been chucked into the Mekong.
People sitting in the a/c lounge reading or talking while we were cruising down the Mekong in Cambodia. We could have been in a hotel lounge in Pismo Beach.
People who think they're very funny but aren't funny at all should be sterilized. If they talk unfunnily very loudly then their children should be taken in the middle of the night and extradited to a black-ops site for several months.
People who enter sacred religious sites and then find a place to sit down, all in a group, so that they can talk very, very loudly about matters unrelated to the site should be gagged and hobbled.
People who bargain fiercely for a $1 discount on a $3 item and then bragging about their purchase should have $1 bills super-glued to sensitive mucous membranes.
At one of the temples the tour company had arranged for two monks to say a long prayer for us. During this invocation the monks scattered lotus leaves into the crowd. A couple of people complained about an "allergic reaction" to the leaves. How about some hot sauce on your genitals? That would classify as an allergic reaction.
One woman actually came up to me at the start of cruise - named Riches of the Mekong - and asked: "Which river are we on?" I said: "The Mississippi," which she didn't think was that funny. I should have suggested the Rhone or the Seine, maybe the Orinoco. She was a lot more savvy than I gave her credit for. Frankly, the question so disarmed me that I was speechless for a second. It took me a lot longer to come up something offensive to say than normal.
Part of me wondered why travel to a 3rd World country only to complain about the 3rd Worldness? This was never a vacation but more of a cultural adventure. And as I mentioned before my hat is off - or should be off - to anyone willing to take the plunge into such newness. This would be if I could look for the good in someone instead of the bad. There was another couple there who felt like we did but were - in my opinion - overly pious and self-righteous about the correctness of their traveling . . . and yes, I see the irony as I write this, luxuriating in my own perfection. The point is I try to keep finding that middle road, that balance, that perspective.
Really, I'm mostly just having some fun with this. Most of the time these folks were just fine and they didn't bother me at all. We all have our shortcomings.
Mine, as has been pointed out repeatedly, is a total lack of tolerance for other people. Working on it, working on it.
So, that being said, here is a catalog of some of the bitching and boorish behavior I heard while on the fancy-pants tour, and I am not making any of this up.
The bus is too hot or could you turn down the air conditioning? Tough shit and no.
The road is too rough. A few times the road was pretty bad but talk about something out of everybody's control.
This site is stupid or a waste of time or too far from the ship.
The guide never stopped talking. This is a variation of the complaint that we weren't given enough information from the guide about the day's excursion, and maybe one of the origins of the concept: "Damned if you do - damned if you don't."
Immediately upon embarking on our ship more than one person complained about the internet access. I mean they were standing in the lounge with their devices trying to get on-line immediately. I assume that their input was needed on important matters with global implications. Have you ever looked over someone very important's shoulder while they were on the web? Try it - no one is doing anything very important unless you consider Facebook to be a matter of global import. Which you should not. All of their electronic devices should have been chucked into the Mekong.
People sitting in the a/c lounge reading or talking while we were cruising down the Mekong in Cambodia. We could have been in a hotel lounge in Pismo Beach.
People who think they're very funny but aren't funny at all should be sterilized. If they talk unfunnily very loudly then their children should be taken in the middle of the night and extradited to a black-ops site for several months.
People who enter sacred religious sites and then find a place to sit down, all in a group, so that they can talk very, very loudly about matters unrelated to the site should be gagged and hobbled.
People who bargain fiercely for a $1 discount on a $3 item and then bragging about their purchase should have $1 bills super-glued to sensitive mucous membranes.
At one of the temples the tour company had arranged for two monks to say a long prayer for us. During this invocation the monks scattered lotus leaves into the crowd. A couple of people complained about an "allergic reaction" to the leaves. How about some hot sauce on your genitals? That would classify as an allergic reaction.
One woman actually came up to me at the start of cruise - named Riches of the Mekong - and asked: "Which river are we on?" I said: "The Mississippi," which she didn't think was that funny. I should have suggested the Rhone or the Seine, maybe the Orinoco. She was a lot more savvy than I gave her credit for. Frankly, the question so disarmed me that I was speechless for a second. It took me a lot longer to come up something offensive to say than normal.
Part of me wondered why travel to a 3rd World country only to complain about the 3rd Worldness? This was never a vacation but more of a cultural adventure. And as I mentioned before my hat is off - or should be off - to anyone willing to take the plunge into such newness. This would be if I could look for the good in someone instead of the bad. There was another couple there who felt like we did but were - in my opinion - overly pious and self-righteous about the correctness of their traveling . . . and yes, I see the irony as I write this, luxuriating in my own perfection. The point is I try to keep finding that middle road, that balance, that perspective.
Really, I'm mostly just having some fun with this. Most of the time these folks were just fine and they didn't bother me at all. We all have our shortcomings.
Mine, as has been pointed out repeatedly, is a total lack of tolerance for other people. Working on it, working on it.
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Character Assassination
Assassin: Any ruthless killer.
I took a lot of notes during the trip or, as LWSJ would call them: "Your book of lies." He has no idea.
This was a curiosity to a number of travelers. Sometimes I said I was a travel writer. Sometimes I said I was a journalist. Once I said I was David Foster Wallace. I also might have mentioned that I was an all-league point guard for Penn back in the mid-70s. The reception to this was surprisingly good. Nobody knew who Wallace was so I was safe there but I bet one guy who cocked a skeptical eye to my basketball fame might have taken a look on google to see if the Penn roster was posted somewhere.
There was a man on the boat that I kind of liked at first. Then he threw a very public hissy fit during our last dinner, berating any employee within a hundred feet, culminating in a tete-a-tete with the maitre'd. I didn't like him so much after that. Plus, his wife was a total ditz. She came back from the central market in Phnom Penh with a couple of IWatches that she paid $40 apiece for. She was going to give them as gifts. She was also quite boastful about the deal she got, apparently unaware that an actual IWatch is going to run about $400 on sale. The market also had Rolexes available for under $10, a signal to the savvy shopper that maybe this was a place to heed the age old warning: Buyer Beware. That would be the case, I guess, if you had the basic intelligence to realize a $40 Apple product was certainly not authentic.
Where was I going with this, anyway, before I lapsed into my hobby: character assassination? Oh, yeah, this guy asked if I would send along my notes when I was finished as he had been too busy complaining about the heat and the rough road and the food and . . . there I go again. Anyway, I took his card and said that it would be my pleasure.
When I got my notes cleaned up I sent him a friendly email. I wanted him to be comfortable when a message with a name he might not recognize - containing a big Word document - popped into his in-box. Like most people I have a totally mistaken perception of the effect I have on other people, proving the incontrovertible truth: "No one is thinking about me." My email was forwarded by the man - who requested the notes - to his wife - who did not, unsurprisingly from someone who didn't appear to possess any advanced reading skills whatsoever - with the internal note:"FYI." This woman did respond with several cryptic references that indicated she had NO idea WHATSOEVER who I was, concluding by asking if I was going to go the Israeli PAC meeting in Washington, DC. (I did like her big ending, I'll say that much).
I deleted the whole mess, of course. I was not going to try to clear that up. Not with a woman who is undoubtedly very busy checking data on one of her two, new, fully-functional IWatches.
I took a lot of notes during the trip or, as LWSJ would call them: "Your book of lies." He has no idea.
This was a curiosity to a number of travelers. Sometimes I said I was a travel writer. Sometimes I said I was a journalist. Once I said I was David Foster Wallace. I also might have mentioned that I was an all-league point guard for Penn back in the mid-70s. The reception to this was surprisingly good. Nobody knew who Wallace was so I was safe there but I bet one guy who cocked a skeptical eye to my basketball fame might have taken a look on google to see if the Penn roster was posted somewhere.
There was a man on the boat that I kind of liked at first. Then he threw a very public hissy fit during our last dinner, berating any employee within a hundred feet, culminating in a tete-a-tete with the maitre'd. I didn't like him so much after that. Plus, his wife was a total ditz. She came back from the central market in Phnom Penh with a couple of IWatches that she paid $40 apiece for. She was going to give them as gifts. She was also quite boastful about the deal she got, apparently unaware that an actual IWatch is going to run about $400 on sale. The market also had Rolexes available for under $10, a signal to the savvy shopper that maybe this was a place to heed the age old warning: Buyer Beware. That would be the case, I guess, if you had the basic intelligence to realize a $40 Apple product was certainly not authentic.
Where was I going with this, anyway, before I lapsed into my hobby: character assassination? Oh, yeah, this guy asked if I would send along my notes when I was finished as he had been too busy complaining about the heat and the rough road and the food and . . . there I go again. Anyway, I took his card and said that it would be my pleasure.
When I got my notes cleaned up I sent him a friendly email. I wanted him to be comfortable when a message with a name he might not recognize - containing a big Word document - popped into his in-box. Like most people I have a totally mistaken perception of the effect I have on other people, proving the incontrovertible truth: "No one is thinking about me." My email was forwarded by the man - who requested the notes - to his wife - who did not, unsurprisingly from someone who didn't appear to possess any advanced reading skills whatsoever - with the internal note:"FYI." This woman did respond with several cryptic references that indicated she had NO idea WHATSOEVER who I was, concluding by asking if I was going to go the Israeli PAC meeting in Washington, DC. (I did like her big ending, I'll say that much).
I deleted the whole mess, of course. I was not going to try to clear that up. Not with a woman who is undoubtedly very busy checking data on one of her two, new, fully-functional IWatches.
Monday, January 18, 2016
Bunyang
We make a few friends among the staff on the ship. I catch Bunyang outside one morning on a break and he asks me some questions about my life and tells me about his. He works 10 1/2 months straight, 7 days a week, on the ship. His wife lives in a room in Phnom Penh, studying nursing for which he's paying - they see each other once a week or so when the ship is docked in town. His 3 year old daughter lives 100 kilometers away with his in-laws so he obviously doesn't see her much at all. Still, he has a good job and he's reflective, philosophical about the situation. At one point he asks if we have children. When I say no he paused a minute before replying, explaining that people without kids in Cambodia have a tough road ahead because they have no one to take care of them when they get older - no powerful, wealthy government or social agency will step in. He didn't ask why we didn't have children or express either approval or disapproval - he explained factually how that would shake out in Cambodia.
One morning I sidle up to the bar to order my coffee in the still deserted lounge. He motions to me to take a seat: "I'll bring you the coffee." I say, no, I want to stay here and talk to you. God knows I didn't want to talk to any discontented rich people Afterwards he wishes me well with my day and says: "Thank you for talking to me." I get it that these service people need my money and they're more likely to get some of it if they behave in a certain way. I was a salesman - I met a lot of nice people when I was working but, face it - we both knew that the only reason I was there was that I hoped they'd buy something. Still, I never got the sense that I was being treated well in an attempt to separate me from some of my money.
I tipped Bunyang extra. Damn right I did.
I tipped Bunyang extra. Damn right I did.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)